


I'll Make This Feel Like Home

by hollytabatha



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anniversaries, First Meetings, Fluff, Louis is a french vampire, M/M, One Shot, SO MUCH FLUFF, Soulmates, Vampire AU, Vampires, and hes been a vampire for longer than harry, and its based off a tumblr prompt, but it took a life of its own, finding home in other special people, he plays a fellow vampire who makes human-free blood wine, it jumps between the day they met and their aniversaries, literally all fluff, oh and nick gets one mention, sorta - Freeform, that makes louis' tummy upset, theres literally nobody mentioned but louis and harry, too many references to their songs im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 03:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5075578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollytabatha/pseuds/hollytabatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Here’s to another two hundred years, love,” Harry lifts his glass in a toast.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“To another two hundred years,” Louis echoes, lifting his glass to match. “Just try not to get staked going out to get milk again, yeah?”</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>Their glasses meet with a clink in the middle, and they both take long sips from the liquid, their eyes meeting fondly over the rims of their glasses.</em></p><p> </p><p>-<br/>Or,<br/>The one where Louis and Harry are vampires who're very much in love and are celebrating their 200th anniversary of the day they met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Make This Feel Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is super short and full of fluff and nonsense. It's loosely based off this tumblr post:
> 
> "frankmorys:  
> two vampire friends lying on the floor getting drunk and describing eachother because they can’t use mirrors don’t even try to tell me that isn’t adorable"
> 
> Dedicated to Linda and Jolie because I love y'all.

_Paris, October 25 th 2015_

 

The floorboards creak quietly under Harry’s feet as he pads about the kitchen, holding two antique wine glasses between his long elegant fingers. They clink together as he precariously balances them, stretching down to a lower cupboard and making a grab for the ancient wine bottle stored in the far corner, gathering dust amongst the pots and pans.

With a careful thumb, Harry brushes the dust from the label of the bottle, his nose twitching with a sneeze as the dust floats up into his face. Once he’s assured it’s the right bottle he waltzes back through the living room, long legs navigating around the furniture until he slips out the veranda doors and out onto the small balcony.

“Oi! Took you long enough, didn’t it? Where’d you wonder off to now?”

Harry smirks, turning his attention to the man draped artfully across a wicker chaise lounge. He lifts the wine bottle up and waves it in Louis’ direction, his smile widening with mirth as the older man’s eyes light up in interest.

Louis perks up from his spot, shuffling up the lounge and sending grabby hands in Harry’s direction. “Give it here, then! What is it? Not that Bison infused Merlot Nick left, is it? Had me bed ridden for days that did. Bastard,” he scoffs.

Harry shakes his head, “It’s _Syrah infusé avec sang royale,”_ he murmurs, making his way to the sofa and passing the bottle into Louis’ waiting hands.

Louis’ eyes brighten even more so at Harry’s words, much to his amusement. “Your pronunciation is still heinous dear, but I’ll let you away with it this time. When did you even get this? Why haven’t I drank it already?” Louis huffs, lifting his legs so Harry can rest on the cushion before he plops his legs back down over Harry’s lap.

“Been saving it for something special.” Harry passes a glass to Louis, watching the man open the bottle of wine eagerly.

“’S’pose this is a bit special,” Louis hums, pouring himself a glass of the deep red liquid and sniffing the glass, his tongue swiping his bottom lip and flashing a sight of his elongated fangs.

Harry’s fangs ache at the sight, slowly protruding as the sweet scent of the regal blood infused in the wine drifts over into his senses. “Yeah, just two hundred years with you and your big arse moaning at me every day. Quite the anniversary.”

“Oi!” Louis sends a teasing glance towards Harry, his eyes practically glowing under the moonlight casting down onto the balcony. “You love me and my big arse moaning at you,” he prods playfully at Harry’s chest before swiping up Harry’s glass and topping it up.

“Can’t deny that, can I?” Harry shrugs shamelessly, “Here’s to another two hundred years, love,” Harry lifts his glass in a toast.

“To another two hundred years,” Louis echoes, lifting his glass to match. “Just try not to get staked going out to get milk again, yeah?”

Their glasses meet with a clink in the middle, and they both take long sips from the liquid, their eyes meeting fondly over the rims of their glasses.

 

⚓

_London, October 25 th 1815_

 

 

His boots make quiet clicks on the cobbled ground, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his long coat as he walks at a swift pace under the moonlight. He had spotted the boy wondering out a tavern, the lanterns hitting his unusually tan skin in such a way that Harry punctured his inner lip with the speed his fangs unsheathed.

Harry never kills his victims, he just stuns them, feeds from them and hopes no one with worse intentions than his own swoop in on their unconscious states. He still feels awful every time his victim slumps silently into his arms, but he has no option. He tried going without for a month but by the third week his hair began to fall out in clumps and he was just so _hungry._

Tonight is no better. His hands tremble in his pockets as he stalks after this young man. His thirst is so incredibly strong for this boy’s blood that he fears the hunger inside him will get the better of him, making him drink too much and causing the first soul to be lost under his actions. The boy doesn’t deserve that; no one does, so he paces himself, gathering deep breaths of the cool air in hope it’ll calm his urges.

The boy wanders with a tantalising sway in his hips, his own hands tucked into his pockets as he takes a right down the narrow street into a dark alleyway. At the sight of the boy’s convenient direction, Harry quickens his pace and turns into the alley, preparing himself to swoop in and swiftly knock the boy out.

What he _doesn’t_ prepare for is being pushed quickly into a wall in the alley the second he turns, his head colliding painfully with the cobbled stone and a hand gripping his shirt in a steel grip.

His eyes widen in shock, taking in his attacker who stands firmly, cornering Harry into the wall.

It’s – it’s the _boy._ The beautiful tanned boy Harry had marked down to be his desert tonight, stood right in front of him, blue eyes aflame and… and long elongated _fangs_ bared dangerously close to Harry’s face.

“O—oops,” Harry stutters, body trembling under the boy’s gaze, lost for words.

The young man’s eyes dart around Harry’s body, taking in every detail for any signs of danger before his eyes land and fixate on the point Harry’s sharp fangs peak under his upper lip. At this sight, his grip on Harry’s shirt loosens, and his eyes narrow in a mix of confusion and amusement.

His eyes flicker up to Harry’s own, “Hi…” he murmurs, shifting his weight on his feet.

Harry’s heart is beating too fast for him to form any words or thoughts so he just continues to tremble in the deep stare of the man’s gaze, shocked to hear a greeting instead of just getting his throat torn out right there and now.

“What do you think you were doing, _petit_?” The boy questions, a soft French accent tinged in his voice.

“I w—was, um, I am so sorry, I was just so _hungry,_ and you were just… _you_ and I didn’t _know!”_ Harry rambles, eyes flickering between the young man’s intimidating cerulean eyes and the exit of the alleyway beside them.

The man rolls his eyes, releasing Harry’s shirt out his grasp and stepping away from the spooked boy, who releases a long relieved sigh at the loss of contact.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that could’ve been? If I had been any other vampire in this damned city you would be _dead_ now. They would’ve went straight for your throat and left you out here to die!”

Harry cowers under the vampire’s words, suddenly feeling much younger than his actual age, head tilted in shame like a scolded child. “I really am sorry, I just didn’t know you were a vampire! I just thought you were a beau—um, a normal boy.”

The vampire’s eyes shine with amusement, but still manage to stay suffocatingly intimidating. “What age are you, _gamin_?”

“T-twenty one,” Harry mumbles.

The vampire scoffs impatiently, “Non, _imbécile._ Your actual age.”

Harry sighs quietly, “Seventy one… I turned in 1755.”

The man’s eyes widen at Harry’s words. “Seventy one! You’re but a baby! No wonder you were bumbling about trying to hunt a _vampire,”_ he shakes his head fondly, then trusts out a hand in Harry’s direction.

Harry flinches at the action, but quickly catches on and slowly shakes the man’s hand.

“I’m Louis, going on the ripe age of 124. Name?” Louis states with a small smile.

“Harry,” He replies with a cautious smile, refraining from telling Louis how good he looks for his age. Bit inappropriate, Bit stupid.

“Harry, Pleasure. I take that you’ve not ventured far from home yet, petit?”

Harry shrugs, “Not too far, no. I came from Cheshire, but I thought it was best to leave since… you know.”

Louis nods with understanding, a tinge of sadness in his eyes. “I understand. I travelled from _Brantôme_ in France in the mid 1700’s. Needed new sights, so I came to London.”

“That must have been hard, leaving your home,” Harry murmurs, memories flashing in his mind of leaving his family before they noticed that as they grew old, he would stay the same.

Louis looks off down the alleyway for a second before quickly changing the subject, “We mustn’t stay here for much longer, people will get the wrong idea.”

“Not that they’d be much wrong with the assumption of us being up to no good,” Harry mutters, stepping away from the wall to stand by Louis’ side.

Louis released a small laugh, sending a bright look up towards Harry. “I like you. There should be enough time for us to grab a bite tonight, Will you join me, _mon cher_?” he finishes with a wink.

Harry feels a blush grow on his cheeks and his heart jump in a way he’s not quite sure he’s ever experienced, not even before he came who he is now. “Of course,” he nods softly.

“Marvellous!” With a smile, Louis starts off down the road, Harry following in his steps.

They head down the cobbled street, shoulder to shoulder with sly glances shared between the both of them under the soft, enchanting moonlight.

 

⚓

_Cheshire, October 25 th 1915_

 

 

Soft fingertips trace down his spine, making Louis squirm in the sheets from the ticklish touch. Each tender touch is highlighted with a sharp nip of teeth, keeping Louis’ heart racing and his blood rushing through his body.

“One hundred years,” Louis can feel the words pressed against his shoulder blade, Harry’s hot breath making goosebumps raise on his skin.

“One hundred years of _you._ Of _us_ , doing this every single day. God, how’d I get so lucky,” Harry shifts his weight, slowly lifting off Louis’ back to rest on his side on the bed with a sigh, sheets wrapped loosely around his hips, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Not that Louis needs to use his imagination much with the amount of time Harry spends in the nude every day.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Louis murmurs into his pillow, sending an amused glance across to Harry’s sated form.

He’s truly a sight to behold with his shimmering skin and long hair sprawled out on the white sheets. It sends and ache through Louis’ heart knowing that Harry will never see _this._ He’ll never truly know just how beautiful he is, because there’s no number of words in any language that are enough for Louis to describe Harry’s beauty to himself.

Things have gotten better since they first met. They’re a couple for starters, which Louis sees as the ultimate accomplishment, no matter how inevitable it was. It just happened, it’s hard for Louis to describe. It just felt natural to eventually fall into each other and fall in love. It was as easy as breathing, to them.

In 1865 they moved away from London and travelled north back to Harry’s hometown, and were fortunate enough to meet a community of vampires just like them who didn’t murder for blood, and some who’ve found other substitutes for human blood all together, but Louis couldn’t stomach it when he and Harry had tried the diet for a month.

He has a home now. A home he has in the community. A home he made with Harry. A home _in_ Harry, because he knows now no matter where he goes or how life treats him, as long as Harry’s by his side he’ll always be at home.

Louis stretches a hand out, running a careful finger over the ship tattoo inked into Harry’s pale skin. It was in 1900 they got the tattoos, a ship for Harry and a compass for Louis. They’ve always seen the tattoos as a promise. A promise to each other to always be there, always be each other’s home.

“I am so, so in love with you, by the way. If you didn’t know that already,” Harry murmurs, tracing his own finger down Louis’ inner arm, stopping at the compass to trace it gently.

“What, really?” Louis gasps, sitting up on bed, “And to think after all this time I thought we were just friends! I for one am horrified, disgust—“

Harry rolls over, planting a wet kiss over Louis’ lips, causing the older man to cease his theatrics.

“Shush. You love me just as much, _crétin_ ,” Harry grumbles, scooping up Louis in his arms and rolling to land on his back again, Louis resting on his chest with his sharp chin digging on Harry’s breastbone.

“Your pronunciation is horrible,” Louis grumbles back, but settles into Harry’s warm chest with a content hum. “So, Mr man-who-is-in-love-with-me, do you think you’re in for the long-haul? No other young attractive and witty French vampires in your sights?” Louis mumbles into Harry’s skin, smiling, but he can’t deny there’s a tiny worry in his gut that Harry would say _‘yes there is actually, and I just remembered we’ve got a date tonight. Au Revoir!’._

Harry smiles fondly down at Louis, running a gentle hand through the smaller man’s soft hair. “Yes, of course. Always. You’re _it_ for me, Mr man-who-is-also-in-love-with-me. Pretty sure you’re the only attractive, French—“

“—and witty—“

“ _And witty_ , vampire out there. And if you aren’t, you’re certainly the only one for me,” Harry murmurs, finishing with a quick peck to Louis’ forehead.

Louis smiles in reply, his eyes shiny with love for the man before him. Pressing a kiss over Harry’s heart. “Love you,” he mouths over Harry’s skin.

“I love you too.”

 

 

⚓

_Paris, October 25 th 2015_

 

“You have these like, green eyes but green isn’t enough they’re like… I don’t know. Like, mossy… or swamp green—“

“Swamp green! That sounds Horrible!” Harry exclaims, jostling Louis whose perched himself on his lap, straddling his hips. On their second glasses of the Syrah, they decided that the balcony floor looked a lot more comfortable chaise lounge.

“ _Non_! No, like, _good_ swamp green. The best swamp green. If there was a swamp princess her dress would be the colour of your eyes… or sommat,” Louis smiles, running a fingertip over the thin skin under Harry’s right eye.

“ _Right,_ right,” Harry nods, resting his hands on Louis’ thin hips.

“And…” Louis pauses, running a fingertip down Harry’s cheek until he reaches his lips. “I love your lips. They were the first thing I noticed about you. The second being your fangs, _obviously,_ but anyways. Your lips are just so… not full exactly, but plump? And they seem to be a different shade every day. One day they’ll be baby pink and then the next day they’ll be a red so deep it could compete with this wine probably,” Louis waves the empty bottle to emphasis his point.

“I dunno. What I _do_ know is that it really didn’t take me that long at all to realise that I wanted to spend my life kissing those lips—“ Louis leans down, smacking a kiss on Harry’s parted lips, “—like so. Yeah.”

Harry beams up at his boy, feeling like he’s blushing from head to toe. “Thank you, baby.”

“Do me now! Am I gorgeous? Or am I so ugly that you can’t even form words to describe my atrocious heinous appearance,” Louis narrows his eyes, prodding a finger at Harry’s chest.

Over the years spent in England Louis’ French accent muted and he picked up more and more northern quirks to his speech, but whenever he’s drunk the French brogue in his voice comes back, and it delights and amuses Harry to no end, reminding him of the days he was just getting to know the older man.

“Yes that’s exactly it. You should be thankful you can’t see your reflection or you’d probably pass out from horror—“

“-- Oi, _enfoiré_!” Louis slaps Harry’s bicep with a huff.

“Okay! Okay I’m joking, you’re beautiful! You’re mesmerizingly beautiful, could put every model to shame.”

Louis bobs his head in approval, urging Harry to carry on with his compliments.

Raising his hand, Harry runs a thumb over Louis’ soft cheek, eyes full of love for this boy, his heart feeling like it could burst.

“You’re just… you’re so… fuck, I don’t know what to say,” Harry sighs, “it’s like, every time I look at you I’m just so full of love for you. You’re just so beautiful inside and out. When I look at you I see your blue eyes alight with mischief, your little nose when you scrunch it up when you’re annoyed or laughing and god, I see the curve of your cupids bow and I want to write fucking sonnets on how your lips curve just-so when you’re trying to hide a smile. I see all of this but most of all when I look at you, all I see is _home._ You’re my beautiful, fussy, witty _home,_ and I love you so, so much.”

Louis’ eyes are gleaming by the end of Harry’s speech, and his hands are tangled in the hem of Harry’s warm sweater. “That was…” Louis clears his throat, rubbing at his nose a little, “That was really fucking sappy and fuck you for making me tear up like this,” he sniffles.

Harry sits up, propping his back against the lounge so he can cradle Louis to his chest, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry, _petit_.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Louis mumbles into his sweater, “… I really fucking love you, though.”

Harry buries his fond smile into Louis’ hair, rocking his boy gently side to side. “I really, really fucking love you too, love.”

“D’you think we can be enough? Forever is a really long time. Like, _really_ long,” Louis asks, his voice quiet in the cold autumn night.

Harry stares down at the boy, tracing the profile of his nose with a finger. “Of course we could be enough. I have had you by my side for two hundred years. _Two hundred_! We have been through hell and back and you’ve never loosened your hold on my hand, or my heart. I _know_ we’re enough. It’s you and I forever, _mon petit ange_.”

Louis snorts quietly, gazing fondly up at Harry. “ _Je n'aurais jamais dû t'apprendre le français, mon amour._ ” he murmurs around a yawn.

Harry nods with a small furrow in his brow, “I don’t know what that means, but I love you too.”

Louis slowly extracts himself from Harry’s lap, standing with wobbly legs. “C’mon, let’s go to bed. My legs are numb and if you make me cry again my tears will freeze to my cheeks.”

Harry follows the smaller boy to the balcony door, gazing at the sway of his hips. “We could start our next 100 years off with a bang, eh?”

Louis sends a withering glance towards Harry, “I am embarrassed on your behalf for that. Ridiculous.”

With quick steps Harry swoops down on Louis, arms wrapping around the boy’s slim waist and his elongated fangs dragging across the tan skin of his neck. Louis is all too familiar with the move, and rolls his eyes fondly at his spouse. “Got you,” Harry mumbles into a soft kiss he presses into Louis’ neck.

“You’ve got me forever, you big oaf,” Louis grumbles, before steering the taller boy back into their cosy apartment, the ethereal moonlight lighting the two lover’s way into their home.

**Author's Note:**

> So as you could see that was a MESS but college has drained my creativity.  
> Don't do media, kids.
> 
> Tumblr: Nympholouis.tumblr.com
> 
> Happy Halloween


End file.
